I socialize a lot with straight men – in my experience, more often than my queer lady friends do. A lot of my fellow queers say that straight men have been awful allies to them and are too blinded by privilege. I understand that. Speaking for myself, though, straight men were my most valuable allies when I first came out in high school. They defended me from criticism and were there to bail me from my house when my family became too unbearable.
Sometimes, though, I have a very different experience with straight men who I get friendly with. After a while hanging out, my gender slowly shifts in their eyes as they learn about my queerness. I’m moved out of the category of “woman” into a third gender. The straight guys start to talk about “women” in a way that obviously doesn’t include me.
That’s when they roll out the welcome mat to the misogyny club.
“You should go to the whiskey bar down by the park,” says Dudebro, after a few drinks. “There’s this super hot bartender there. She’s a butterface, but she’s just so attractive.”
My eyebrows rise. “What’s a butterface?”